


(febrile) + persistence

by impossiblepluto



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Dengue fever, Fever, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, MacGyver Fluff Weekend, Parental Jack Dalton (MacGyver TV 2016), Platonic Hair Washing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:33:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27712075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblepluto/pseuds/impossiblepluto
Summary: Set in the middle of “Febrile + Critical + Recovery” this missing scene is the second shower that a feverish Mac mostly sleeps through while Jack washes his hair.It is not necessary to read “Febrile” first. A late entry for the MacGyver Fluff Weekend.
Relationships: Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 88





	(febrile) + persistence

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Febrile + Critical + Recovery](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23698258) by [impossiblepluto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblepluto/pseuds/impossiblepluto). 



> Hi Friends,  
> I put out a few feelers to see if anyone would be interested in a missing scene/epilogue to the story "Febrile" and the answer was yes.  
> Thanks for checking it out! I hope you enjoy it. And thank you to the wonderful friends who offered brilliant suggestions, encouragement, and listened to me complain as I wrote it.  
> love, Pluto

“Yeah, okay, thanks, Doc. Will do and we’ll plan to see you tomorrow.” A deep, jaw-cracking yawn splits Jack’s face as he ends the call. He scrubs his tired eyes, his hand trails along the scruff of his jaw. 

“Everything okay?” Bozer asks. The kitchen counter filled with slush molds. She’ll let him think it was his persuasive arguments that did it, but it didn’t take much convincing for Matty to let him bring his work home with him so he could assist Jack in Mac-watching duties. She’s becoming quite proud of Bozer’s skills. While Jack and Mac are the best agents she’s ever had the pleasure of working with, and the pair will fight to continue in those roles until retirement, resisting promotions that would take them out of the field, she could see Bozer running the agency someday. He’s got the patience, the personality, and persistence. 

“Doc’s just going to make a house call tomorrow.”

“Something wrong?”

“He said not. Just wants eyes on Mac for himself.”

Bozer nods hesitantly. “Do… do you believe him?”

Jack sighs considering the question. One he’s asked himself since he brought Mac home. He didn’t have much knowledge about Dengue fever, except that it sounded really bad, and outpatient therapy sounded like a terrible idea. He’s done a lot of reading since then. It doesn’t necessarily make him feel any less worried, because even when it doesn't go bad, it's still bad. And when it does go bad, it goes very bad.  


And  it’s Mac. And Jack is Jack, predisposed to worry if the kid’s got a papercut, but the medical advice is on the level. Not that he doubted it, but… it’s Mac. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I do. McClain’s always played it straight with us. If he thought something was wrong he’d pull Mac in.” Jack yawns again. Pulling back his sleeve and he checks his watch. “Any of that food?” Jack gestures to the mess surrounding Bozer. 

“Soup’s on my favorite burner,” Bozer says with a wave towards the stove.

Jack gathers a bowl and spoon. Stepping up to the stove and peering into the pots, he pauses with a frown. “Which one is your favorite burner.”

“Front left.”

Jack nods, giving the contents a stir before serving. “I’m glad McClain’s gonna come take another look at Mac though. Makes me feel better.”

“This might be the worst I’ve ever seen him where he’s not in a hospital,” Bozer agrees.

Jack thinks Mac might look worse now than times he’s seen the kid in the hospital. Not that he’d tell Bozer that, the kid is alright on edge. Hearing the diagnosis and plan from the doctor himself might ease some of his nervous energy.  


There’s a rustle from the hall, prompting Jack to throw a look over his shoulder. Then a stagger and a stumble. With a clunk, Mac appears in view just as he crashes hard into the wall. 

“Mac!” The ladle clatters into the pot with a splash as Jack spins, meeting Mac half-way across the entryway, Bozer hot on his heels. He wraps an arm around Mac’s shoulders holding him upright. Heat radiates through his clothes. 

“You okay, buddy?” Jack presses his hand to Mac’s forehead.

Mac nods, blond hair askew from sleep and fever. His pillow left deep creases on his frowning face. He’s shivering despite the sweatshirt he’s pulled on, backwards by the look of it. His feet are bare and both legs of his sweatpants are pushed up around his knees. He shrugs out of Jack’s grip. 

“I’m fine,” he mumbles in a sleep-rough voice. 

With a glance and commiserating eye roll at Bozer, Jack ignores the obvious lie. 

Ever the peacekeeper, Bozer offers, “we were just about to bring you some soup.” But Mac’s face wrinkles as he shakes his head. 

“And it’s almost time to check your temperature again,” Jack places a hand on Mac’s back, guiding him towards the couch. 

Mac resists. “I’m too achy to sit. I need… I need to walk.” He stumbles into the living room, ducking away from Jack’s hands. He paces the length of the room with a jolting stride.

Jack matches his abrupt starts and stops. Arms outstretched, he remains within reach, barely refraining from touching. Mac shoots a glare at Jack’s hovering hands, towards which Jack only shrugs. The familiar game of “I’m not touching you” that Jack used to annoy his sister as a child, he’s perfected as a caretaker. Mac can grumble and complain all he wants but he can’t shrug off Jack’s not-touching hands. And Jack remains within arm’s reach in case Mac stumbles. 

Reaching the other end of the room, Mac pauses, panting. He leans forward, resting his head against the cool glass of the window. 

Jack pauses a step behind, watching the muscles under Mac’s layers bunch with a cramp. Lines of tension deepen on Mac’s face, but he rides out the wave of pain without a sound.

Bozer appears at Jack’s shoulder, offering the thermometer, which Jack accepts gratefully, before he gives the pair some space. Mac is resistant to letting people observe his weakness, hissing like a feral kitten when cornered by concerned eyes and hands.  


When Mac starts pushing away from the wall to escape, Jack stops him. 

“Hold on a second there,” Jack’s arms are up, placating, palms open as he moves forward slowly. The thermometer in clear view, dangling between his fingers, like Mac is a wounded animal Jack is coaxing. 

Mac groans, and Jack’s not sure if it’s the sight of the thermometer or he’s finally admitting to pain. But he lets Jack get close enough to smooth his hair away and slide the probe into his ear. Mac is trembling under his hands and Jack murmurs softly, rubbing his hand between Mac’s shoulder blades, offering support and strength as they wait for the reading. 

“Oof, okay, pit stop in the kitchen for some water and Tylenol,” Jack instructs when he sees the numbers.

Mac pouts but allows Jack to steer him into the kitchen and onto a chair. He watches with hooded eyes as Jack gathers the supplies. Bozer finishes dishing up the soup and places it in front of Mac. 

Mac leans over the bowl, letting the steam warm his face. 

“Nah, come on, you’re too warm already,” Jack says, resting a hand on Mac’s shoulder, pulling him back.

“I feel cold,” Mac mumbles. 

“Here, take this,” Jack turns Mac’s hand and shakes two tablets into his open palm. 

Tossing the pills back, Mac reaches for the glass with a tremulous hand. Jack’s hand closes around Mac’s, steadying the cup as he takes several large gulps. 

“There we go, down the hatch,” Jack guides the glass to sit on the table. 

“Try some soup, Mac” Bozer encourages. 

“‘M tired of soup,” Mac props his head on his fist. 

“You want something else?” Jack asks. “Anything you want. If Bozer can’t make it I’ll go pick it up.” 

“I don’t know,” Mac picks up the spoon and dips it into the bowl, slurping tentatively, his head bent over the dish. “I want to not be sick.”

Jack scrubs a hand through Mac’s sweaty hair again. “I want that too kiddo.”

“Everything hurts.” 

Jack closes his eyes, hurting when his boy hurts, wishing he could do something more than fever checks and encouragement to keep eating when Mac’s strength flags. He massages Mac’s shoulders. Mac sighs, relaxing into the touch. 

“Come on, do a couple more bites for me.”

Mac’s frowns, coming to a decision. He pushes away the still half-full soup bowl. “I want a shower.” 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea right now, dude, you kind of botched that last one.” 

Mac’s scowl deepens, his eyes fever bright. 

“And your fever is up, I don’t think you can handle much more heat right now.” Jack drops into the chair next to Mac, watching as Mac’s eyes flood with frustrated tears and he blinks them away hard. Jack reads the pain on Mac's pale face. Knows from the too familiar lines and creases that he’s tired and aching. Sick and tired of being sick and tired. 

Jack turns and looks at Bozer who isn’t any help. He just shrugs, watching with concerned eyes but deferring to Jack’s judgement. Jack may know most of the “Do’s and Don’t of Feverish Mac Wrangling” but he doesn’t know what the means when it’s a potentially-hemorrhagic fever from a tropical location. 

Still, he’s rarely able to refuse Mac anything he wants. Especially when he looks like this.

“Alright, fine, but we’re gonna do it my way.”

“It’s always your way,” Mac grumbles.

Jack scoffs. “I know the fever’s messin’ with your head a little bit, but if you recall, we did it your way last time and you almost ended up on the floor.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“How can you argue that? I carried you back to bed.”

“Not from the floor.”

“You would have if I hadn’t been there.”

“I called when I needed help. My way worked.”

“You want to take a shower or not?” 

Mac glares at him, staggering stubbornly from his seat and down the hall. 

Jack scrubs a hand through his hair, then jogs to catch up with Mac as he enters his bedroom.

“Hold on, wait a minute. Already said we’re not doing passing out in the shower round two, let me get set up,” Jack instructs, attempting to push Mac onto the bed to wait, and half-hoping the kid will pass out on the bed while he’s waiting. His eyelids are already sagging with fatigue. But even dizzy and feverish, Mac remains persistent, and with a grace that surprises Jack, Mac swings around him and into the bathroom. 

Mac tugs the sweatshirt over his head as he crosses the threshold, blond hair sticking up in all directions. 

With a growl of frustration at Mac’s tenacity, Jack places the shower chair he dug out earlier in the tub and turns on the water.

“At least wait a minute until the water warms up,” Jack scolds, trying to stall Mac. He catches Mac’s warm shoulder when he stumbles, stripping determinedly out of his sweatpants. 

Goosebumps erupt across Mac’s arms; fine, blond hairs stand on end. 

Without waiting, Mac steps into the shower and under the spray. He gasps, shivering violently when the water hits his feverish skin and drops into the chair, curling around himself.

“Whoa, slow down there, hoss” Jack jumps into the line of fire and grabs the showerhead. He brings it lower, aiming towards the drain so it’s not striking Mac, checking the temperature on his arm. “Let’s assimilate to the water.”

“It’s acclimate,” Mac’s teeth chatter.

“That’s what I said,” Jack places his hand between Mac’s shoulder blades. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Mac answers between clenched teeth.

“That’s not your ‘I’m fine’ face, I’ll grab a towel…”

Mac sits up with an ornery glare. He pushes a hand through his hair, slicking it back away from his face. He reaches for the showerhead. 

“Feels plenty warm now,” Jack says, holding the sprayer low, directing it towards Mac’s legs. The kid still shivers when it hits.

“Too cold?” Jack asks, concerned.

“No, it’s okay.”

Jack studies his expression before aiming the spray gradually higher. 

“Feels good,” Mac admits. “It’s warm.” Steam curls around them and Mac pushes Jack’s hand up so the water sluices over his head. 

Smiling softly, Jack reaches for the bottle of baby shampoo and pumps a healthy dollop into his hand. 

Mac tenses when Jack’s hand lands on his head. 

Jack pauses, waiting for a moment, then slowly moves his hand through Mac’s locks, getting a feel for the length and massaging the shampoo into a lather. The tension leaches from Mac’s shoulders, until he’s leaning back, resting against Jack, thoroughly soaking Jack’s t-shirt. Mac’s sudsy hair brushing against Jack’s jaw and turning the scruff white. 

The ease with which the shampoo reaches a lather is one of the reasons Jack loves it. 

The scent is the other, the soft, clean fragrance. 

Jack hums softly as he skims his fingers across Mac’s scalp. Mac practically purrs in contentment. 

“This isn’t my shampoo,” Mac mumbles, his head bobbing, and his eyes spend more time closed than open between long languid blinks. 

“Raided your lab stash. Got the last of the baby shampoo you keep on hand for oil spills. The “no tears” stuff.” 

Which is the third reason Jack likes it. Probably should be number one on the list. He’ll never forget the red-rimmed eyes that glared at him after the first time he helped Mac bathe. “You don’t have to worry about me blinding you.”

Mac doesn’t reply, just lets out a deep, restful sigh as he sinks further against Jack. 

Jack chuckles to himself as he pushes Mac’s hair up into a fauxhawk. The kid isn’t awake enough to protest. Probably not even awake enough to realize Jack's spent the last five minutes just playing with his hair.  


Jack blinks hard at the level of trust Mac has in him. 

“Your clothes are wet,” Mac mumbles.

He’s soaked through. Sweatshirt, t-shirt. He doesn’t care, but does wish he’d taken his socks off before jumping in after Mac. There’s something he hates about wet socks. 

He opts for teasing, rather than the sappy words that bubble in his chest, seeking escape. 

“I got a wet t-shirt contest after this so I thought I’d get a jump on it.”

Mac smiles. “Seems like cheating.”

“Well, when you’re more of a silver fox instead of just a fox, you need all the help you can get.”

Mac hums. 

“You’re supposed to tell me that I’m not going gray, Mac. You aren’t following the rules.” Jack leans over Mac’s shoulder. His eyes are firmly closed and his breathing deep and even. 

“Hey,” Jack jostles. “Don’t go to sleep just yet, kiddo.”

Mac doesn’t reply. 

Jack has a moment of worry as he presses a soapy hand under Mac’s jaw, counting his pulse, until Mac sleepily bats it away.

“You fell asleep just to prove a point, didn’t you? Even though we did it my way, I’ve still got to carry you back to bed.” Jack aims the showerhead at Mac’s hair, fingers twisting through silky tresses as he rinses. “You play dirty, hoss.” 

He makes quick work of the rest of Mac’s clean up. 

Jack snags a towel from the rack, covering Mac’s head as he keeps the water flowing warm over Mac’s chest and legs. With some fancy maneuvering, he gets his fingers around the phone he’d dropped safely out of splashing distance and texts Bozer for assistance, not wanting to yell and wake Mac. This is the most relaxed Mac has been in days. 

Grabbing a second towel, he wraps it around Mac’s shoulders, aiming the spray lower. 

There’s a tap on the door before it cracks open and Bozer’s anxious face appears.

“Jack?”

“He’s just asleep,” Jack whispers as Bozer steps into the steamy room, closing the door to keep the heat inside. “And slippery as a catfish. I’ll never live it down if I have to pick him up off the floor cause I dropped him.” 

“N’t ‘sleep,” Mac mumbles from under the towel. 

“Not awake either, hoss,” Jack says, flipping the towel away from his face, his eyes are still closed.

Mac hums, neither confirming nor denying Jack’s claim. 

“Okay, how do you want to…” Bozer takes the showerhead from Jack, turning it off and hanging it on its cradle. 

“Shirt first,” Jack says, dropping another towel around Mac’s waist now that he doesn’t have the water keeping his lower-half warm. 

Mac’s head bobs and weaves with each ruffle of the towel through his hair. His body pliant, boneless, as they vigorously dry him and feed his limbs through the correct openings in his clean clothes. 

“Hold on, he’s stuck,” Bozer latches onto a wrist and starts tugging.

“Stop. Stop, that's my hand.”

“What’s your hand doing in Mac’s sleeve?”

“It wasn’t in Mac’s sleeve before you started yanking on it. Wait. Here, I’ll feed it through if you grab-”

“Got it!”

“Nope, that’s me again.” Jack waggles Mac’s hand at the wrist, the empty sleeve flops around.

Bozer digs through the material. “Is this still you?”

“No, that’s him.”

“Thought you guys were usually better at this.” 

Mac’s hand appears at the end of the sleeve with a pop. 

Jack grumbles. “Usually we are. I can help Mac change faster than I can field strip my rifle. You’re the new element here.”

“Hey, you called me, remember, cranky-pants?” Bozer scowls as he fishes through the other sleeve. 

Jack tugs the shirt over Mac’s head. “Sorry, you’re right. I’m not usually trying to dry him off at the same time. And he’s usually a little more awake than this.” 

“‘M awake.”

“No, you’re not,” Jack and Bozer answer simultaneously. 

“I do appreciate the help. Sorry I got spicy.”

Bozer shrugs. “It’s okay. You’re stressed. Tired.”

“So are you. Barely got home from a mission.”

“Obtaining a thumb drive from under the noses of the enemy in a country where we’ll be disavowed if we’re caught? Piece of cake. I’d do that any day. Taking care of a sick Mac is when you should get hazard pay.” 

“That ain’t part of your contract?” Jack teases, ruffling Mac’s hair fondly. “You need to work on your negotiating skills.” Jack swings Mac’s legs so they’re hanging out of the tub and he’s sitting sideways on the chair while Bozer pulls the sweatpants over Mac’s feet. 

“Alright, we’ll stand him up. Shimmy them up, and get him tucked into bed. Oh, hey, before that, would you-”

“I already changed the sheets,” Bozer interrupts.

“You’re a good friend, Bozer,” Jack smiles. “Okay, hold him up for a minute. Don’t want my wet shirt touching him when we move. 

Bozer holds Mac upright as Jack strips off his wet shirt, dropping it with a thwap in the bottom of the tub, then tugs off his wet socks. 

“On three,” Jack counts down and they lift Mac to a mostly standing position, situate his clothes before Jack scoops him up, carrying him bridal-style to the freshly turned-down sheets. Mac curls onto his side as soon as he’s settled. Jack gently strokes his damp hair. 

There’s a soft rap on the door and Jack’s head snaps up.

“It’s Riley. Is it safe to come in?”

Jack pulls the blankets up to Mac's shoulders before granting entrance. “He’s decent.” 

If Riley notices anything odd about the scene, she ignores it. More likely she’s reached a point where nothing really surprises her anymore. 

“How’s he doing?”

“Squeaky clean and sleeping again,” Jack says with a fatigued sigh. 

“Great. I think that means it’s the perfect time for you to get some sleep.”

Jack waves off the offer. “I’ve been sleeping.”

“Recliner doesn’t count.”

“Sure it does. I can sleep anywhere.”

“Recliner sleep only counts if there’s no other option,” Bozer pokes his head from the bathroom where he is gathering the used towels. 

“Sleep is sleep.”

“That’s not what you told Mac,” Riley raises an eyebrow. “Or me. What about you, Bozer?”

“When I slept on the old futon in Mac’s lab waiting for my molds to dry, you yelled at me to go home.”

“First of all, I don't yell. Second, that old futon? Way worse than sleeping in a recliner. I got better sleep doing SERE training than sleeping on that thing-”

“Jack,” Riley interrupts, stepping forward and putting a hand on his shoulder. “He’s sleeping now. He might need you later. Might need you at your best. Let me take watch for a while.” 

Jack scowls at Riley. “I know you’re trying to manipulate me,” he looks down at Mac’s lax face. 

“Is it working?” Riley smirks.

“Little bit, yeah,” Jack wavers.

“I promise to wake you up if anything changes.” 

“I suppose I could just crawl in next to him for a bit.”

“Real sleep, Jack. You won’t if you stay in here,” Riley crosses her arms, her expression daring him to argue.

“You’re getting real good at that stubborn face, you know that?”

“Learned it from the best.”

“Aww, Riles-”

“Matty’s a good teacher.”

“Ouch,” Jack puts a hand over his chest, wincing. “Walked right into that one.”

“Which is further proof that you need sleep.”

“Yeah,” Jack sighs. “Yeah, okay,” he smooths a hand through Mac’s hair, letting his fingers rest on Mac’s forehead. “But you wake me up if he needs me.”

“Promise,” Riley gives him a gentle shove, steering him towards the door. “I’ll keep a log. If he even turns over, it’ll be in my report.” 

Jack hesitates at the door a moment, watching the three kids with a lingering look before he nods and heads down the hall. 

“You want some company?” Bozer asks as Riley settles into the recliner next to Mac’s bed.

Riley shakes her head. “You were up most of the night, you should get some sleep too.”

“Alright,” Bozer agrees, only slightly more easily than Jack. “But if anything changes, wake me up too.”

Riley stands again, giving him a quick hug before he leaves and she sits back in the chair. 

"Okay, Mac,” Riley says, unable to resist carding her fingers through his hair in a move she’s watched Jack do for years. “I got Jack trying to sleep, so if you could behave for the next few hours, just sleep and not let your fever spike, that’d be great.” 


End file.
